


forty-eight hours

by babypapaya



Category: Formula 1 RPF, Motorsport RPF
Genre: Gen, Implied Relationships, Lewis and Seb make appearances but not enough to tag them, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-10-31 07:50:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20789483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babypapaya/pseuds/babypapaya
Summary: Charles Leclerc: Race winner for Scuderia Ferrari, F2 Champion, VSCO girl. It's a way of life.Originally posted anonymously.





	forty-eight hours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [singlemalter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/singlemalter/gifts).

Pierre wasn’t a vain man. Every morning when he looked at himself in the mirror, his internal reaction was a shrug and no more. He knew he was attractive when he tried, and he put a little bit of work into upkeeping that. Sometimes his curiosity got the better of him, and he’d try something new in his routine, like a new shave to keep his look fresh. He’d taken to doing his hair with some blonde accents in the past few years, and decided he liked that look well enough to keep wearing it. 

What never expected, however, was to be consulted for hair advice. But there he was, chilling in his hotel room, watching some forgettable movie, when his phone chimed. He cast a glance at it, sighed, and grabbed it. _ Charlie Boy. _

_ Heyyyy boo get down here!! hair appointment time 💇♀️💅✨ _

Pierre sighed again. He’d promised Charles earlier to come help with his dye job._ Room #?? _he texted back.

His phone buzzed immediately with the reply: _ ahhh forgot to tell you!! sksksks #607 _

He tugged on an old t-shirt to match his sweatpants and made his way to Charles' door. His knock was answered by the man himself, clad in a well-faded oversized tie-dye t-shirt emblazoned with the words Yellowstone National Park and a bear cub cavorting all over it, and sipping a Starbucks pink drink. His perfect teeth clicked against the purple anodised metal straw stabbed ruthlessly through the plastic lid.

“Are you readyyyy?” Charles sang, dragging his friend into the bathroom. “I can’t believe I’m _ finally _ doing this, oh my god.” He’d recently grown his hair out a bit, letting it swoop into a more episode-three-Anakin-Skywalker look than his habitual fade. “I just wanted to try something new,” he’d bluster when asked. 

Several hours later, Charles and Pierre emerged from the bathroom. Pierre was exhausted. Charles was blonde. It was sort of golden, sort of streaky. Pierre hoped his amateur attempt looked intentional in a good way. He put his hand on Charles’ shoulder, guided him toward the closet mirror, and spun him to face his reflection.

“—and I OOP!!”

* * *

The next day, Charles donned a Patagonia fleece, tied a matching bandana in his hair, and sauntered out of his room with an ox red re-Kanken slung over his shoulder. On his way out of the hotel, he zoned out of thought as ice cubes clanked into his (also) red 32oz flip top hydroflask. There was nothing to worry about. His water would stay cold for 48 hours now.

“Charles, you can’t use that water bottle while you drive,” Mattia frowned, once he reached the paddock. Charles had made a beeline to his car, clutching the on-brand bottle. 

Charles frowned back. “I’m saving the turtles, Mattia. Don’t you care about the turtles?” He eyed the cup in his boss’ hand. “Is that a plastic lid?” He turned back to his car, wedging the hydroflask beside his seat. 

“Charles! You’re adding too much weight to the car, you’re putting yourself at a disadvantage to everyone else,” one of the mechanics argued.

Charles turned around to fix his gaze on the well-meaning man. “They drive with the weight of their environmental crimes,” he declared. He scanned the garage for a second. “Mia!” he called out, summoning his harried social media manager. “Mia, get a photo of this. And call up the brand to see if I can get a partnership. We can put their logo…” he scanned the sponsors decorating his car. “We’ll put their sticker right here,” he said, pointing at the Shell logo on the nose of the Ferrari. 

Two hours later, news of Charles’ statement had spread. His instagram following leapt by 28k, drawn by the #hydroflask tag in his story, and even Lewis dropped by the garage to speak with him. “Hey man, I’m so happy you’re caring more about the environment!”

“...yes,” Charles said. “My backpack is made entirely of recycled bottles.”

“Glad to hear you’re listening and speaking up, even though you know Seb is my main man… concerning plastic clean-up.” Lewis winked almost conspiratorially, and Charles, who had no idea what Lewis meant, scrunched up half his face to return the wink. “One piece of advice, though? Never buy a private jet. They’ll never let you live it down.”

“...okay,” he replied.

“Hit me up if you have any ideas! I’m down for anything; we’ll collab on a partnership or something. Just won’t drive in FE. But—” he turned toward the rest of the garage— “god bless, love you all, good luck this weekend!” And Lewis hurried off. 

Mattia came up behind Charles a moment later, and cleared his throat. “Charles. I, too, applaud your efforts to care, but if you start calling turtles your spirit animal, it will look very bad for the team.”

Charles scoffed. “I would never do that! Spirit animals are a religious and cultural concept and when non-indigenous people use the term it is highly… it’s wrong, it’s culturally appropria—”

“_No_, I mean turtles are slow.”

“Are you judging them? You can’t do that; it is not as if you ever raced!” 

“_Charles_.”

“We will talk after.” He swept out of the garage, grabbing a handful of Ferrari-branded scrunchies. He’d recently requested that they be added to the arsenal of free merch handed out at races. His request had been met with raised eyebrows, but they had become a massive hit. Twelve bright red scrunchies on each arm, he made his departure. 

By the time he reached the Red Bull Energy Station, he only had one left. Charles narrowed his eyes, spotting Antonio Giovinazzi in the distance. _ Target Acquired. _

“Giovi!!” Charles called, waving him over. “Your hair’s a little messy,” he cooed, reaching up to drag the hat off his friend’s head. “You don’t have anything for it, do you?” he asked, tossing the hat away. “Here, take my scrunchie! I have way more in the garage. Sksksksks it looks so good on you,” Charles cried, fingercombing Antonio’s hair and fumbling the scrunchie into it. “I’m sure it’s okay for you to wear this, you’re close enough to Ferrari.”

“I saw you try to give one to Carlos. It did not go well?” Antonio, shook, managed to ask. 

“—and I oop! Especially with the McLaren/Mercedes plans! I had to give it to someone in the Racing Point garage. They said they had bleach.” Charles frowned. “I’m not sure what they meant.” He whipped out his phone, clad in a red pelacase. “Just one picture! You’re so cute with your hair up!”

He snapped the photo, permanently recording Antonio’s deer-in-the-headlights look, and breezed on. Tripping up the stairs to the Energy Station, he burst through the doors. “Alex? Alex?” Charles glanced left and right, spotting the innocent man eating his lunch. “Alex, babe!” He dragged up a chair and settled in. “You draw, right? I saw your ASS car sksksksks I loved it!”

Alex looked up from his plate. “How did you make that sound?”

Max, beside him, also looked up. “Right in front of my salad, too.”

Charles grabbed Alex’s drink, added a metal straw from his pocket, and slurped noisily while raising his eyebrows at Max. “You’re just mad that you can’t draw, boo. We all saw _ your _ car. And I oop!” He gave the drink back to Alex, but left the straw. “I need you to draw some stickers for me, Alex.”

"Yeah?" 

"I can pay you, if you want. And you can keep the straw."

"I mean, I can't draw everything, what do you want me to draw?" Alex asked.

Charles rolled his eyes a little self-deprecatingly. "Everyone already knows… just some turtles. Some cute little turtles I can put on my helmet. They can be funny if you want, Mattia said—" here Charles frowned— "that turtles are slow, so if you know how I'd like to have one riding a skateboard, maybe, obviously a red skateboard, maybe with an engine, with some fire coming out of it?"

Alex nodded thoughtfully. "We can do that. I have a small break right after lunch so we can get them done right away."

"Babe, I asked you for the lion poster for my room two weeks ago," Max burst out, "and you haven't even _ started _ the sketches."

"Shhh," Alex hushed him, reaching out to press a finger to his teammates lips while already sketching on a napkin. “Can you get the markers from my driver’s room? And go scrounge some vinyl scraps from the garage, please, and thank you.”

Max slid his chair back with a screech, and stood up. He grabbed Alex’s drink and took a long noisy sip from the metal straw, narrowing his eyes at Charles while turning away. Charles smiled right back. 

Half an hour after Max brought the supplies, Alex had a dozen turtles drawn on bits of white vinyl scrapped from sponsorship logos applied to the cars. Charles stole a pair of scissors from the kitchen and cut them out, handing one back to Alex and another to Max. “Put them on your water bottles! Raise awareness 🌳🐢🌊” 

“How did you—” 

“We can’t obscure any Red Bull branding,” Max interrupted. He lifted his head from his arms, where he’d been slumped against the table waiting, annoyed but too attached to leave. 

Charles snatched Max’s cap off and smoothed the sticker across the stiff brim, and plopped it back crookedly on Max’s head. He took the man’s drink, originally Alex’s, and slowly dragged his tongue over the tip of the metal straw, maintaining neutral eye contact with Max, before setting it back down very pointedly. “Thanks Alex,” he chirped, and then he took his leave. 

* * *

“Charles, put your race suit on now. You’re driving in less than an hour,” Sebastian reminded his younger teammate. Charles was dozing off in the garage, half-finished friendship bracelet in red and blue dangling off the handle of his hydroflask. He jerked awake, misted his face with Mario Bedescu, and sent a frown toward Seb.

“These jeans are thrifted sksksksk I won’t take them off that easily, Sebastian.”

“I can see the BDG label on them from here, and I know you have the Urban Outfitters app on your phone. Come on, I only have two kids, not three.”

“Do you have a problem with my Out from Under habit? Some people-- ”

“Charl—”

“—impulse buy—”

“Just get ready for the car!”

“—to cope!” Charles stood up anyway, tossing the water bottle over to a mechanic. “Can you install that in my car, please?”

The man caught it and staggered back a few steps. Sebastian watched, his face bland. “Is death by Hydroflask a thing?”

“—and I oop!” Charles giggled, almost out the door. “That was cold, but not cold for 48 hours.”

* * *

Q3 came to a close, Charles’ Sunday position confirmed on the front row, but pole position taken by his teammate.

His radio crackled as the team boss dropped in. “Well done, Charles, great result for the team.”

“sksksks… Mattia, I was so close, I should have been on pole…”

“Copy that, Vettel must drive with the weight of fewer environmental crimes.”

“Tell him to wait for me before he leaves today. We will pick up plastic bottles together.”


End file.
